Got a Secret?
by DeiDei-Demonique
Summary: When John goes out on dates, Sherlock disappears. When John gets home, his texts are ignored to the point of panic. When Sherlock returns, the topic is avoided. What is Sherlock keeping hidden? And will John discover that maybe, somethings are better left a secret. WARNING: Slight graphic scenes, blood, MxM, Jimlock/Sheriarty, later angst. ON HIATUS, SORRY!
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone, this is my first Sherlock story so I hope I don't end up embarrassing myself. If I get anything wrong, feel free to point it out to me and I can fix it for you. Also, if anyone found this from Tumblr, You guys are amazing beyond words!**

**Also, to anyone who is waiting on my Kuro updates, they will happen eventually but I'm a bit stuck with those at the moment so I am using other programmes to get my creative juices flowing and such.**

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**Summary: **When John goes out on dates, Sherlock disappears When John gets home, his texts are ignored to the point of panic. When Sherlock returns, the topic is avoided. What is Sherlock keeping so secret? And will John discover that maybe, somethings are better left a secret.

**Rated T - Mystery/Romance - WARNING: Slight graphic scenes, blood, MxM, Jimlock/Sheriarty, later angst.**

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_**Disclaimer: DeiDei does not own Sherlock. She is no where near smart enough to come up with any of those plot lines and foreshadowings.. **_

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CHAPTER ONE:

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It's amazing how quickly things went back to normal between John and Sherlock. Sure the first couple of months were awkward, the first week was tense. But now, now it was as if the Fall had never happened. John had managed to hit it off with a girl during Sherlock's 'absence' and was still going strong with her. Their weekly dates had easily been fit into the detective's routine and he no longer bothered to interrupt his flatmate during these crucial hours away.

Sherlock slipped back into the scene easily. Still spreading his experiments across every available surface, still berating Anderson and Donovan with his snarky remarks, still consuming copious amounts of tea and coffee. Still same old Sherlock. Although, if John had to guess, he would say the consulting detective had become more.. Considerate? Appreciative? Sentimental? Or maybe he had just become more polite. Not calling everyone idiots was simply manners. Smiling in greeting is normal. But it was those small things that helped John forgive Sherlock. The sociopath had learned to socialize. Only one step but it was better than before.

It was a Friday afternoon when Sherlock's phone went off, interrupting his performance of Bach's _Partita no.1_. John had his weekly date that evening and Sherlock had long ago learnt not to interrupt the man whilst he was getting ready, opting instead to simply reach for the phone himself. Flashing up on the screen was a message, sent from an unknown number. For a moment, the detective considered ignoring it, but something told him otherwise. Halfway in it's decent, Sherlock pulled the phone back up and unlocked the screen, taking in the few words before him.

_"We met twice, five minutes in total. He pulled a gun, I tried to blow him up. I felt we had a special something."_

_And I think we still do, Mr Holmes. Want to find me? I'll make it worth your while ;)_

_-JM_

The detective simply stared blankly at the screen for a few moments, before a grin slowly crept onto his face. Sherlock felt like jumping up from the sofa, but composed himself long enough to send one word, just one, before picking his violin up to continue where he left off, briefly considering how ironic it was.

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Not too far away, a young man smirked. The rippling of the water reflected against his suit, and a delightful fire burned as he looked at the small device in his hand.

_James._

it read. Only one word, meaningless to many. But to James Moriarty, that one word meant everything. Sent by the only man in the world he would allow to call him that, no one else would dare to name him such. But this was Sherlock Holmes, and from him that word was special. Grin bared, he tapped at the keys and laughed.

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Sherlock was not a patient man, not by far. That was only one reason as to why the consulting detective was sat squirming and twitching and shifting in his seat, downing his third tea of the hour and shouting obscenities at the screen of some obnoxious reality show, where a lot of it was quite _obviously_ faked.

It had been exactly 63 minutes since Sherlock had received a response and 62 since he had figured it out. Now all that was left was the waiting, and God knows he hated waiting. He did his best to hide it, however. Best not to cause John any suspicion. To the other man, it would simply appear as though he was bored. Something extremely plausible considering it had been 4 days since their last case. Sherlock had taken to drumming his fingers against his violin as the minutes slowly ticked by. It was only half five. What was the detective supposed to do in the next 30 minutes?

John would've hidden his gun by now, obviously. There were no new cases and a call to Lestrade might prompt the older man to come over. And he definitely wouldn't have left by six. That left crap telly, playing his violin or checking his experiments.

There was nothing he could do with his experiments right now. It would be morning at least before he could gather any results and there was no point in starting another with such a limited time span.

He had also been playing his violin several hours a day for the past couple of days and, believe it or not, it was starting to bore him. And he didn't want to get bored of his violin. He didn't quite feel like composing either.

That left telly. Flopping down on the sofa, Sherlock half-heartedly grabbed the remote and flipped to a random channel. Briefly glancing at the screen, he noted that it was something involving demon hunters of sorts. He was about to turn it off when people started getting attacked by what he could only fathom to be a 'ghost'. Never usually one to be taken in by the paranormal, it baffled him how easily this programme had calmed his buzzing brain whilst not dulling it with senseless drivel. A small voice in the back of his head told him that it was the mystery of it that kept his attention. Whether the culprit was human or not, as long as they committed the crime and left an interesting trail. Soon enough, credits were rolling across the screen and Sherlock was shocked to discover it had interested him. Even more than that time travelling thing John insisted they watch every week. [Though he would never admit to liking either.]

_'Well, that was a waste of ten minutes'_ he thought to himself before glancing up at the clock. The numbers surprised him, as it showed 5:58pm. How he could have spent nearly half an hour watching TV without realizing was beyond him. His thoughts were cut off as John bounded into the living room, pulling his coat on over his black dress shirt. His face was clean shaven and his aftershave gave off a calming scent without being too overpowering. Locking eyes with his flatmate, John smiled whilst simultaneously checking his pockets for his keys, phone and wallet. All were present and accounted for, of course, but it was always best to check. Sherlock returned the gesture, easily slipping back against the sofa in a more relaxed position, as if he hadn't just been leaning intentively towards the screen a couple of seconds ago. Gripping the handle loosely against his palm, the doctor turned back to the detective.

"Alright Sherlock, you know the usual. No letting strangers into the flat, no interrupting me unless it's an emergency and try not to blow anything up."

"I know John. No fires either."

"Okay, I trust you. God knows why but I do. See you in a couple of hours. That is, unless you actually plan on sleeping tonight. In that case, see you in the morning."

With Sherlock's soft "See ya" in response, John slid through the doorway and out to hail a cab. The consulting detective sat still for a moment, listening as the doctor's footsteps faded and the door shut downstairs. Seconds later, he stood abruptly, stretching out his tense muscles and heading for the shower.

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Wiping the steam from the mirror, Sherlock stared critically at his reflection. His dark curls fell over milky skin in damp tendrils and his eyes were alive with excitement. The beginning of a smile tweaked at the corner of his mouth but not so much as to arouse suspicion. His cheeks were clean shaven and his nails filed and trimmed neatly [although, these were often things the detective did on a daily basis], but still something seemed missing. Since his flatmate seemed to have more experience in the matter, Sherlock brought it upon himself to recall every date he had seen John attend and the preparations beforehand. He came up to his conclusion fairly swiftly, yanking open the bathroom cabinet with more force than necessary. Inside were several bottles, each with their own brand and label, but Holmes didn't really care for that. For once he took the simplistic approach, removing the cap from each bottle and sniffing the contents, arranging them mentally in order of appeal. Eventually he found one that suited his tastes and set about splashing the liquid against his chin and rubbing part of it against his wrists. Bathroom done, it was time for clothes.

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For the first time in quite some time, Sherlock was confused. What had previously seemed so simple to him had become one of the hardest tasks imaginable. However, this would not get him down, he would not be beaten by fabric! 'Think of it as a puzzle, a mystery' his mind whispered. And that was exactly what he planned to do. It wasn't a date as such, only a meeting. That ruled out anything too upper class and yet nothing too casual. And he also didn't want to wear something he wore everyday, this meeting would be special. It would also have to be comfortable, as he was currently unaware of what events would follow their talk together, something that bothered him greatly. In the end he pulled out a soft purple dress shirt that clung gently in all the right places, combined with a pair of almost black denim jeans and black shoes. It had been a while since he wore jeans, but this pair [out of the three he owned] was quite easy to manouvere in whilst still maintaining aesthetic appeal. Slipping on his trademark coat and scarf and checking his mobile was in his pocket, he briefly observed the time before rushing out to hail a cab.

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The pool was empty by the time he arrived, abandoned in the darkness with barely a street lamp to guide his way. The nights were dark and cold now in London, and the visible puffs of air that escaped the detectives lips implied the coming winter months. Not particularly his favourite time of year, but the cool, crisp air felt nice against his skin. Fishing around in his pocket, Sherlock pulled out his phone, checking the message yet again even though he knew perfectly well he was in the correct location.

_Remember when you first met Jim Moriarty, Mr Holmes? When you found the way to get to me? No ones ever come that close. Remember the day we discovered you had a heart?_

_Meet me after Johnny boy goes on his date. Take as long as you need. I'll be waiting._

_-JM_

The slender man took a deep and calming breath before pushing open the double doors and walking inside the darkened building. The heel of his shoes tapped quietly against the tiled floors, door after door opening with creaking and squealing hinges that echoed down empty halls. Eventually he reached the pool room where it had all started. Where he had played the game for John's life, fought mental battles against a madman whilst his flatmate stood trapped in explosives. Now that particular madman brought him a different range of emotions, things he would never have shown before the fall, but things were different for him now.

Yet again, no lights were on and no source of life could be seen. The smell of chlorine overwhelmed his senses and the minuscule beams from beyond the windows highlighted the rippling waters of the pool. Sherlock was about to say something when he sensed someone standing behind him. Within seconds, he was spun around and his back slammed against the wall, exciting a soft grunt. This was cut of swiftly as a pair of soft lips found their way to the detective's, a smooth hand gripping him gently beneath the chin. It was brief but passionate, only a moment away from reality but that was how they were. Always one to over exaggerate but repeated measures led to boredom quicker. Short and fast but mind blowing at the same time summed their relationship quite well.

The detective blinked, a slight smile creeping onto his face as he glanced at the manic grin almost directly in front of him. The reflections from the water draped across the two of them as they held their silent position, a tangle of long limbs against a tiled wall. The water made their eyes glisten slightly as they stared into the depths of each other for the first time in months. The shorter of the two had momentarily taken to stroking his fingers slowly up and down the other's cheek, circling the attractive bone beneath his eyes. The detective was the first to break the peace, his deep voice bouncing off the walls and sending shivers down the psychopaths spine.

"James.." he breathed.

"Hey Shirly"

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**So, what did you guys think of the first chapter? I suppose it could be read as a one-shot but if you enjoyed this, expect more chapters to come. I don't know when, how often or how many chapters there will be but hopefully you'll stick with me through my abrupt start/stop writing moments and such.**

**-DeiDei**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hallo you beautiful readers! First off, I would like to thank anyone who favourited/followed/reviewed me or this fic. You're rawr-some. Secondly, I would like to mention that there will be a prequel to this called 'Tricks of the Trade', but more will be said about this at the end. For now, enjoy the Sheriarty goodness ;D**

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_**Disclaimer: DeiDei still does not own Sherlock, nor any of the characters. It will probably stay this way for quite a while..**_

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**Chapter Two;**

A constant and irritating ringing broke Sherlock from his light sleep. Squinting his eyes, he turned to glare at the ofending object, his mobile phone resting on the bedside unit. A bedside unit that was decisively not his, but recognised from the previous evening. He was still in Moriarty's apartment, in his bed, with what he presumed [hoped] was James' arm wrapped around his slender waist. Turning his head, his thoughts were happily confirmed, as the psychopath was snuggling deeply into his bare shoulder, a contented smile on his lips. Sherlock almost felt guilty for having to leave, but obviously it was necessary and James knew that.

Reaching out a thin arm, his long fingers grasped at the mobile, taking a few moments to blink the sleep out of his eyes. Glancing nonchalantly at the time, his eyesbrows raised quite swiftly. It was almost 10am! No wonder he felt drowsy. But then again, the bed was warm and the body beside him was just _so comfortable.._ He was about to slink back down into the covers again when his phone bleeped and buzzed in his hand, showing yet another message. Groaning softly, he unlocked it.

_17 missed calls_

_12 new messages_

'Well' he thought 'That was to be expected'. Reluctantly, he dragged himself lethargically from the criminal mastermind's arms, pulling his tight muscles into a seated position. Hearing the other grumble slightly behind him, probably from the loss of both warmth and a 'pillow', he glanced back at James. Laying back against the silken sheets, Moriarty was blinking heavily as he was welcomed back to the waking world. Sherlock smiled lightly as he watched him yawn widely, like a small child from a nap. As adorable as the psychopath may appear at that moment, the detective realised he should probably check his messages before something dramatic occurs, like his brother barging through the door. Or rather, Mycroft sending others to barge through the door. Out of the twelve text messages, ten were from John and two were from Lestrade. Good. They hadn't got 'the british government' involved yet. Sighing quietly, he figured he should probably get it over and done with.

_Sherlock? Where are you? -JW_

_Have we got a case? -JW_

_You could at least text back -JW_

_Fine. Be that way. -JW_

_I won't be there to get you out of it this time -JW_

_Could've at least left a note -JW_

_We're out of milk again, if you feel like getting some -JW_

_Getting a bit worried now. -JW_

_Sherlock? -JW_

_Answer me or I'm phoning Lestrade. -JW_

_Sherlock? John asked me to text you. Give him a ring or something mate -GL_

_I'm giving you an hour to call John before we trace your phone, Sherlock. -GL_

Heaving a heavier sigh, the sociopath checked his missed calls. Every one was from John, ranging between three and ten minutes apart. The last text had been almost twenty minutes ago, at 10:02 meaning he should probably text his flat mate to let him know he hadn't been kidnapped or something. Pulling up the text screen, he was barely startled by the feeling against his shoulder.

"You're not going to tell them, are you?" It was more of a statement than a question and both of the rooms occupants knew that. And yet, Sherlock answered anyway, after quickly sending John an 'all okay' message.

"Of course not. Not yet, at least."

Most would be dissapointed by this answer. Some would feel angry or ashamed, but James didn't. He understood the reason behind it. After all, he wasn't exactly the most favourable person in the world. He was the reason for the paper scandal. He was why Johnny boy thought his flatmate had topped himself. He was the reason why Shirly had spent two years hiding out with Miss Adler, not that he was complaining. Although, there was also something else. Moriarty would see the fun in what others saw as madness, treating every aspect of life as a game, one he intended to win. That's all this would be. A game. A very seductive and pleasurable game but a game none the less. Not only a game, but a _secret_.

Jim was knocked from his thoughts by a soft chime sound and an aggravated grunt from his current cushion. A response then, from his blogger.

_Where are you? I've been worried sick! -JW_

_Out. -SH_

_Doing what? -JW_

For a moment, the detective thought. Barely a second, but a suitable solution was formed. It wasn't exactly a lie but it wasn't the truth either. It was something in between. His lips twitched slightly as he felt smooth fingers stroking along his shoulder, filed nailed tracing over his collar bones. It made him sigh in satisfaction to feel the warm body pressed lightly against his back, to feel anothers soft skin touching his own. He could feel as James' heart beat faster in his chest, the blood rushing through his veins and flushing his skin. He could feel as the heat in his own body intensified, burning pleasantly throughout him and make his own heart race in time with its partner. Whilst he still had some self control, he sent a quick text to John, one he knew would recieve no argument or further questions. The thing his flatmate knew very well what would result from interuption. Throwing the mobile none too softly back onto the bed covers, Sherlock dived onto the shorter man, pinning him to the bed and drawing out a quiet chuckle.

_Experiment -SH_

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It was almost two hours later when Sherlock came thundering through the door to 221B. Not that he was angry, rather that he was one to add a dramatic flourish to everything that he did. He was once again wearing his mask and left no clue to where he had been during his absense. As per usual, as soon as he entered the room, he slumped down upon the sofa, ciolin in hand, coat and scarf abandoned beside the door he had just crashed through. All this happened so swiftly that John barely had time to comprehend the detectives return before he was sat nearby, eyes glaring off into the distance as he locked himself away in his mind palace. Although he knew it was probably pointless, John still felt the need to ask the question that had been playing on his mind since he had woken that morning to an empty flat.

"So, feel like telling me what you were doing?"

For about ten minutes the room was in silence. before the doctor concluded that he had been accidentaly ignored, again, and left to make them some tea. It was almost 1pm when the genius removed himself from his mind and answered Johns question. Leaning back and staring at the teacup as though confused to how it got there, he tried to answer as nonchalently as possible.

"I told you. It was an experiment."

Being used to such extended responses, Watsons own answer was quick off the mark.

"About?"

"Nothing important John. You probably wouldn't understand anyway." And with that, his eyes glazed over and the conversation was ended before the doctor could take offense.

_'Maybe' he thought 'he hasn't really changed that much at all'_

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John was busying himself in the kitchen when the deep voice echoed from the living room, giving him a bit of a fright as he tried to determine the difference between leftover stew and blended innards.

"How was your date?"

It wasn't so much the suddeness of the voice that startled him, but more the pure... un-Sherlockness of the question. After all these years, the man continued to confuse him. Quickly pottering over to the doorway, he stared at the detective, who seemingly had not moved a muscle since the bathroom almost an hour ago. The TV buzzed in the background but he really didn't pay it much attention. Something about an angel saving a guy from Hell or something like that. Instead, he focussed on Sherlock as his eyes shifted to lock on his own, blinking heavily from the lack of moisture.

"What?"

"I said How was you date? Really John, keep up."

"Yes, I know you said that. It's just.. Never mind. It was fine. Great, even. Going well.."

John had never felt more awkward and embarrassed than he did in that moment. He had never discussed his dates before, really. Especially in front of a genius sociopath who probably wouldn't know romance if it slapped him in the face.

"Brilliant. Will you be going out again? That's what people do, isn't it?"

"Uh.. Yeah? Next week like usual Sherlock. Why are you asking?"

"Oh, no reason.."

Unbeknownst to John, Sherlocks lithe fingers tapped at the keys to his mobile and a brief smile flitted across his face as he checked his messages.

_Same time again next week? -JM_

His attention flicked back to the doctor, giddily sending the response but hiding it well. His teacup was hovering gently beside his lips as he made a vague attempt at continuing their conversation. Irene had taught him manners aswell, and he would see they were put to good use. Even if his mind was currently preoccupied elsewhere..

"That's uh.. that's great John. Really, really... Good."

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**AUTHORS NOTE: Guys, I really hope you enjoyed this chapter but I've got a bit of bad news. I probably won't be able to post anything for the next two weeks as I am going on a week long university residential in London next Tuesday and won't have access to FF. This means I won't be updating anything unless I manage to write something by Monday evening. I am also sorry for my failed attempts at writing John. I find it really hard to write his character actually IN character, so I hope it wasn't too bad... **

**However, on the brighter side, I can confirm that there will be a prequel to this story, showing my views on what happened when Sherlock faked his death but this has blown up into a monstrous multi-chapter fic that is never likely to happen but you can enjoy it anyway.**

**Prequel Summary:**

**"Tricks of the Trade" -**_ We all know that Sherlock faked his death, but what we don't know is how? And what exactly did the detective do during those two years away? Spending time with a certain Dominatrix and learning how to 'really' use that riding crop is not what we would have expected.. But then again, when has Sherlock Holmes ever been normal? WARNING: Contains sex, nudity, swearing and may result in nosebleeds._

**So, basically, Sherlock hides out with Irene. She teaches him her 'tricks' whilst he teaches her tips on deducing people. Not Sherlock/Irene [Sherene?] but more of a.. friends with benefits kind of thing. Tell me what you think :D **

**PS, some of the things Miss Adler teaches him get used later in this story ;)**


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